Broken Gifts
by QueenOfVenus
Summary: Molly is now safe from moriarty's evil hands, so Sherlock is now able to focus on other things and not worry about her...right? The sequel for 'The Present'. Rated M for eventual smut and talks of suicide, mental health and torture.
1. Night Terrors

**Hello, this is the Queen speaking.**

 **This is the sequel to 'The Present' so if you haven't read that one then you might get a little confused. This is a sherlolly fic through and through. I've rated it M because there will be a bit of talk about torture, mental health, suicide and other sensitive subjects. Some sauce may come up, but if it gets too steamy I will warn you ; )**

 **Hope you enjoy.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock or any of the characters.**

 **...**

The Adler case was long past. Solved and over with. The Woman was supposedly dead and buried six feet under ground, and she would be if Sherlock hadn't intervened. He had been feeling a deep sense of what John told him was 'guilt' in the pit of his stomach, so when he had found out about Irene's execution he felt he had to stop it. He wasn't sure as to why, but he did it, and then regreted it.

After having saved her, he had to stay in a hotel for three days before the flight back. During these few days he had Irene flirting with him constantly. Usually he would have brushed it of as nothing but for some reason he felt angry with her for doing it. Every time she would come near him and attempt to seduce him, Sherlock blocked her off, coldly. The only way he could cool himself down after her aggravating attempts was to think of a sweet voice and a soft hand.

Molly seemed to haunt his dreams. It seemed as though every night, no matter what dream he was having, it would always end with Molly in his arms, bleeding to death and refusing his help. It terrified him, and he wasn't sure he would have been able to come and save Irene if he hadn't convinced John and Greg to watch over her while he was away.

It was a week after he had gotten back and John was only now telling him what he really wanted to hear, what Molly had been up to.

"Nothing."

"...What do you mean ' _Nothing._ ' She has to be doing something."

"Well... aside from asking someone to come with wherever she goes, she's fine."

"What do you mean... she's never asked _me-_ "

"Yah, well there may be a reason for that Sherlock."

John leaned back in his chair with a sigh. Sherlock really didn't understand. "Greg is with her now. I was with her yesterday and the day before. She also asks alot of her friends from work. I'm not to sure why she hasn't asked you...hmm... maybe it's because she thinks you don't like her."

"What! That's ridiculous. Of course I like her. She's my friend. Why would she think I don't like her?"

"Maybe because you ignored her when she had just had a traumatic experience." Sherlock made to interrupt but John held up his hand in a patently way, the'you better listen the hell up, right now mister.' was implied within it. "I know seeing Moriarty was hard on you, but think how she felt. Still feels. He bloody _tortured_ her, Sherlock! He took what she was and crushed it a hundred times. Think how scared she must have been to cut her own wrist down to the God damn _bone!_ "

Sherlock was silent for a moment. "I thought it was a scrape..."

"No scrape could make her lose that much blood, Sherlock. If you actually bothered to go and see her you would see that massive fucking scar."

"...Scar?"

Sherlock watched John with large worried eyes. The piercing blue cutting into him with childish questioning. John had never thought of Sherlock looked more like a little, scared boy then in that moment.

"Sherlock. She is okay. It's just... her mind isn't letting go that easily. She thinks she sees Moriarty and his guards everywhere. She's bloody terrified all the time."

Sherlock sat in his chair a few moments longer, staring deeply into John's eyes, asking what he should do. When John was about to suggest something new Sherlock shot up. He strode over to the door pulling on his coat and scarf. John watched him from the stairs.

"Er...Sherlock?"

"Yes John?"

"What'chya' doin'?"

"Going to see Molly."

Alarm bells went of inside John's head. "NO, No, no. You can't go _now._.."

"Why not?"

"She still needs time to heal before she can deal with you!"

" _Deal with me?_ What's _that_ supposed to mean! Plus, it's July, it's been seven months, she had surely had time to heal, like you said, foot healed, cuts are now wounds, yada yada I don't see the problem."

" _WELL I SEE THE PROBLEM!_ "John yelled. Realising he was shouting he lowered his voice to an angry whisper. " _You haven't visited her for_ _ **six**_ _of those seven months! You have_ _ **no**_ _idea what she is like now, she jumps at nothing, she screams in her sleep every half hour, until you have to literally shake her awake, she sees her kidnappers bloody_ _ **everywhere**_ _! She does not have the mental stability to deal with your shit right now Sherlock! And, it's what...1:57, so when you get there it's gonna be 2:05._ "

John heaved a heavy sigh. Sherlock was looking at him like he was mad. _If only he could have heard he screams he would know why he can't go..._

"Don't go, Sherlock. She isn't ready yet."

"Then when will she be ready?"

"I don't know. Maybe next week, maybe next month, maybe next year, or two..."

"I can't wait that long. And maybe I can help her. If I promise not to be an arse, will you let me go?"

John pondered for a moment. He nodded slowly. "Fine Sherlock. Go. See if you can help. God save us if you can..."

...

When he arrived at Molly's flat he let himself in with the key he knew she kept under the plant pot. Whe he got inside he walked straight to her bedroom. He opened the door to see Molly lying in her bed, hair spread out over the pillow. One of her friends was stroking her back as she slept. The friend looked up as Sherlock walked in. She placed a finger over her mouth and got up.

The two of them walked into the kitchen, where they started to talk in hushed tones.

"You the replacement?" Molly's friend asked.

"...Yes... I'll take over, you get some rest."

"Thank you, and good luck. Oh, poor girl. She always has been so fragile but that evil man completely broke her." She turned and left, stopping at the front door. "Get ready for a bit of screaming." And closed the door behind her.

"Yes...I've been warned."

Sherlock wasn't exactly sure what he was supposed to do. He had got there, thinking he would just talk to her and see if she was okay, but sitting in her room, watching her sleep caused him to rethink what he might do.

She looked so small and breakable lying there beneath the sheets. Sherlock felt the strangest desire to protect her. He slowly walked forward and sat down carefully on the bed beside her. She seemed to tiny next to him anyway, but curled up and sleeping caused her to seem so much smaller.

Sherlock wasn't sure how long he had been sitting there, lost in his mind. He could almost feel the protective bubble that surrounded them. But all of that was shattered when she started to scream. Her screams ripped through his head, filling him with panic. He quickly pulled her into his arms and started to cradle her, trying to comfort her, but she just started to scream louder.

"Molly! Molly wake up!"

She started to stir, struggling against him. Painfully slowly, she woke up, her screams growing quieter. Finally awake, she moved, turning her body. Then she seemed to realise that it wasn't her friend that had put her to bed that was holding her. She started to scream again.

"Molly! Shhh, it's Sherlock! You're okay. He can't get you. I won't let him." Turning hin his arms, she looked up into his face, peering through the darkness. Her eyes glittered with tears, and she started to cry. Sherlock held her as she sobbed into his shirt, the material dampening. It was then that it dawned on him just how much Moriarty had damaged her. He had torn i to her and cut her to pieces. Although everyone had tried to piece her together again, Molly was still missing so much of her old self that she may never be the same.

Sherlock let her cry and pulled her closer. He wasn't sure how long he had sat there holding her but he still remained there long after all the tears had gone, long after she had fallen asleep, and long after the tears had dried on his shirt. He was barley aware of the slow summer sun seeping through the gaps in her curtains. A while later he looked at his watch. Half past five.

He looked down at the woman in his arms. Molly was snuggled against his side. When she had screamed last it was half past two. ' _S_ _he screams in her sleep every half hour, until you have to literally shake her awake,_ ' John's voice ran in his mind. It had been three hours since she had last screamed. He pulled Molly's sleeping form closer against his side.

Her hands curled into his shirt and she let out a content sigh. She looked so peaceful. Sherlock thought that she looked so... right sleeping next to him. He looked at his watch again. Molly wouldn't have t obe up for another hour. _Should I stay? If I do there will be no doubt an uncomfortable conversation on why he had never come to see how she was getting on, but if he didn't she would most likely wake up terrified. I can't do that to her, not again._

Sherlock sat back against the head board, holding the slumbering woman next to him against his side. He let her steady breathing lull him into his thoughts. Whatever was coming tomorrow he could deal with it if it meant saving her the pain her mind was inflicting on her.

 **...**

 **Yay! First chapter of the sequel down! This story is mainly going to revolve around Molly's recovery because, I mean, if you were kidnapped and tortured by a psychopath, there is no way you'd leave without some kind of mental damage. Lets just hope, for Molly's sake, that Sherlock will be able to stop mistaking his ass for a hat.**

 **Thanks for reading and reviewing.**


	2. The Morning After

**Hello, this is the Queen speaking.**

 **When we left of, Sherlock was in Molly's bed, and Molly was in Sherlock's arms. Will Shezza be able to realise his feelings and comfort her the way she needs ; ) or will he stay oblivious to all emotion?**

 **...**

Safe. Molly felt safe when she woke up. It was strange. For the past few months she had always woken up screaming and feeling like one of Jim's men had a grip on her shoulders. Maybe it was the warm summer heat in the room, maybe it was the comforting weight of Meena sitting on her bed. As she started ro wake her senses came back to her, and she noticed the things that were wrong.

First, she heard the steady beat of a heart. It was strong and soothing, like knowing that someone is calm and ready for her to lean on if necessary. Second, she noticed that the chest she was lying on was _not_ the soft, feminine, figure of Meena. It was hard and masculine. Next she noticed smell. It wasn't the sweet fruity smell of Meena's favourite perfume. It was masculine. _It's fine..._ She told herself. _It's probably John coming early, or Greg, or Cam, or Fred, or..._ But it didn't smell like any of them. It was too... smoky.

She slowly opened her eyes, blinking away the sleep. She looked across the chest, noticing the white dress shirt under her fingers. Her hand rested with her finger tips under a black suit jacket, smooth and expensive. Her hand rose and fell with the man's breathing.

"Good morning, Molly." A low voice said, the deep baritone rumbling through her, her head still lying on his chest. She started to try and pull free but his arms tightened around her. She was just about to scream when she saw the Belstaff over her dresser. The signature coat of Sherlock Holmes.

She tried to sit calmer, this time the man let her. She looked down at him. Sharp cheekbones, porcelain skin, contrasted against dark curls. Piercing blue eyes gazed lazily up at her.

"Sherlock?" She whispered. "What...what are you doing here?"

"I came to look after you." He replied indifferently. His eyes never left her face, and neither did his hands leave her waist.

Molly looked around her room and pieced together what was missing. "Where's Meena?"

"Meena?"

"My friend. She was here last night, she put me to bed... did... did something happen to her?"

As soon as Molly's face shifted from confused to worried, Sherlock sat up and pulled her against his chest again. "No! No, she's fine. When I arrived she gave your protection responsibility over to me and left f

F7fif home. She is completely safe, you needn't worry."

At his words, Molly melted into his chest. Knowing that Meena was safe allowed her to calm down a lot, but with that question out of the way, all the others floated back. She felt Sherlock pull her closer and lean back against the bed. He held her close to his body, one hand around her waist, the other running fingers through her hair. His gentle violinist fingers soothed her and calmed her down, but she still needed to ask the questions.

"Sherlock... why are you here? -I mean, I now _why_ you're here, cause you're here to make sure I don't drive myself so far into my mind that I slit my wrists- **No!** I mean..." She sighed. _Can I ever speak in coherent sentences around this guy?_ "Why are _you_ here to look after me. Why not _John,_ or _Greg?_ "

"Because I wanted to know how you were. And not just from what the others, I want to hear it from you." His words rumbled through his chest and into her like a sedative, cooling her nerves, but making her more... aroused then calm.

"Why would you care how I am..."

She felt him flinch. Molly looked up at him and saw something move in his eyes. He kept his gaze locked on the door. "Well, if I care enough about you to save you from Moriarty, then you should assume that I care about you enough to want to know how you are. So, I'll ask again. How are you today Molly?"

"Fine." She bit out, almost bitterly. Here Sherlock was, being kind and sweet, then he rears his ugly head and spits out some indifferent excuse for wanting to see a friend. This man was a God damn roller coaster, (one that Molly still, after all this, still desperately wanted to ride...)

"I need to get ready for work. I'll be fine now Sherlock. You can leave." She got up and walked to her bathroom, turning on the shower. After she was clean she went back into her room. Sherlock was gone.

...

Sherlock spent the rest of the day thinking about Molly. How she had felt sleeping against his side. How her hair had felt while running through his fingers. How her voice had sounded in the early morning, muffled by his chest. How his chest had felt tight when she asked why he would care about her wellbeing. It was all so confusing to him. Sherlock was always so sure of everything, his mind palace like his own source of all the knowledge on earth, but as much as he searched, he couldn't find any reason that he should feel these feelings.

He could still feel her small frame against him, so fragile and soft. Although he had trained himself to need very little sleep to function, lying in bed with her had caused him to feel... relaxed, like he was finally ready to sleep. But why.

John had left to visit her for lunch, and although it was completely unnecessary, Sherlock felt a boiling ball of jealousy grow in the pit of his stomach. Extremely anti climactic, but Sherlock still couldn't rid himself of the feeling.

 _Research._

He stalked over to his laptop and opened a few tabs, finding his preferred website, and began to dive into his 'studies'.

 **'The terms such as "heartache" and "gut wrenching" are more than mere metaphors: they describe the experience of both physical and emotional pain. When we feel heartache, for example, we are experiencing a blend of emotional stress and the stress-induced sensations in our chest—muscle tightness, increased heart rate, abnormal stomach activity and shortness of breath. In fact, emotional pain involves the same brain regions as physical pain, suggesting the two are inextricably connected. Scientists at the moment do not know why we experience pain in times of emotion, but studies are being carried out.-'**

Sherlock spent the next few hours searching the Internet gor answers. He hardly even noticed when John came back from lunch and left again for yet another date with yet another girl. Mind racing and questions flying, Sherlock left for bed. The answers were sure to come to him in the morning. At least, that's what he told himself.

...

He watched from his computer. The small cameras on each laptop showed him what all of them were doing. Sure, the quality wasn't great, but what he was getting out of all of it was even better. He thought back over everything that had happened that day, and the seven months of waiting that led up to it. Soon he would make his move, and it would be _glorious!_

James Moriarty watched from his seat. His last home may have been blown up, but he still had many more. One day, he would take his prize back to one, where they would live their life. At the beginning he had thought his need for the girl had been a way to get back at Sherlock, a way to make him suffer, but when he had her, he found her so appealing. He found her screams of pain fascinating, wondering what those screams he had caused turned from fear and pain to desire and lust.

"Sherlock, you only have a little while left for you to have her." Jim spoke out load, a monologue to himself. "I'm going to have her anyway, this is just me being generous. I'll let you have a taste first."

...

 **Moriarty is a funny old sod, don't you think. Well, you'll get to see what he has planned eventually. And Sherlock. Sherlock! You had her right in your arms!** _ **Literally!**_ **And you let her slip through your fingers... again,** _ **literally**_ **.**

 **Hope you enjoyed, and stay tuned for the next one.**

 **Thanks for reading and reviewing.**


	3. Haunted by the Mind

**Hello, this is the Queen speaking.**

 **Whoo hoo! We got some sass and screaming in this one. I'm sorry if I frustrate some of you, but I love a slow burn. Isn't the chase so much fun!**

 **Disclaimer: Not mine.**

 **...**

"Anderson? May I ask you a question."

Sherlock, John, Greg Donovan and Anderson had been standing over a a body for the past fifteen minutes. Anderson had been telling Greg about everything he had found and the conclusions he had come to. By this point, Sherlock had had enough of his stupidity.

"Depends. Will it be constructive?"

"I would say so. Completely valid question."

"Fine. Ask away."

"Are you always an idiot, or just when I'm around?"

Anderson lunged towards Sherlock, obviously as annoyed with Sherlock as Sherlock was with him, but before he could reach him Greg was able to stand in the way. " _I'm never an idiot!_ "

"Oh, I beg to differ. You've got some very promising evidence here and you're just jumping right over the right deductions into a minefield of stupidity."

Anderson stopped struggling against Greg and instead stood stock still, turning to his boss. "Sir, I've changed my mind. I-"

"Oh, have you? Changed your mind? Does this one work any better?"

"Don't get smart with me Holmes!"

"Am I getting smart with you? How would you know?"

Anderson lunged at him again, only to be stopped by Greg again. " **Sir, I can** _ **not**_ **work with this ass anymore!** "

Sherlock turned to John and said ' _quietly_ ' "Looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of the cage this morning."

" **You know what Sherlock!?** " Anderson was almost yelling at this point. " **At the start of all this, Lestrade said you were a great asset to solving cases. I told him he was off by two letters!** "

"Very intelligent Anderson. Your play ground insults have stung me to my very _core._ No go, you are depriving some poor village of its idiot."

Anderson stormed out of the room, followed shortly by Donovan, leaving a smirking Sherlock and a very irritated Greg, and an annoyed John.

"Well," John said, "That was a little much, even for you Sherlock."

"Oh, please."

"No, really. You haven't been yourself today. I'm worried about you."

"Yah, me too." Greg patted Sherlock on the back. "Now, I know it's not your thing, but if you ever want to... talk, we're here for you."

"Oh please, Graham. I _would_ be comforted by your words if I was a sixteen year old girl. Or in a soup opera."

"Come on you git." John said, hurriedly try to stop another outburst. "This is unlike you. We've known you long enough, we know what you're like, and if you keep it bottled up you're gonna lash out and be an arse about it all."

"John, this is unnecessary. I'm fine. I dislike Anderson. He is an idiot. None of this is new knowledge." He started to move away from the body towards the door.

"Sherlock-"

"It was the Landlord's girlfriend's cousin." And with that, he was gone.

...

There were certain things in the morgue that made her have to step back and sit down. For example, scalpels made her cringe and her face itch. She could barley look at her stainless steel, surgical trolleys without thinking of _those_ trolleys. When she had to hold her tools the scar on her wrist would throb. The morgue wasn't Molly's anymore.

It all seemed so different to Molly now. She had spent days thinking she would never see her morgue again, then a month in recovery thinking that she would. But once she was back at work, she saw she was wrong. The place hadn't physically changed but it was like half the room was missing. It felt wrong and uncomfortable. She could never put her finger on it but... it seemed like a massive piece of her life was missing.

It was the same case with the lab. She could work for hours and never settle properly. She felt like there was something stolen, like one of her most important pieces of equipment. Molly would glance up from the computer and look over to the microscopes. It was weird. No matter where she was in the room, it always felt like there was a massive empty space by that desk. It would cause her to shiver if she thought about for to long. She couldn't figure out what it was...

Molly was working on a report on Mr Graver when Sherlock walked into the lab. As soon as he stepped through the door they shared a glance. Well, you say a glance. He came in and she looked up at the sound. He was looking at her. She locked eyes with for only a moment before quickly turning back to the screen. She could feel his eyes burning her skin as they racked her body. She listened as his shoes clicked on the tiles, walking towards the microscope.

While before that space had felt like a great, gapping hole in her lab, but now it was like that area was the largest and most prominent presence in the room.

"I need to see a body." He said. She turned in her chair to look at him. He was standing over the table, his arms supporting the weight of his body. She glanced at them and a vivid memory came to her, of how she had woken up that morning, wrapped in those very same arms. The strength and warmth in them making her feel safer then she had felt in months. "Molly?"

She looked up at him again, concern written across his face. "What?"

"Where you just thinking of... him?" He started to move towards her. She flinched. He stopped. The concern on his face was replaced with a quick flash of hurt, and then a shield of indifference. "Will you join me down in the morgue?"

...

Sherlock couldn't get the image of Molly flinching out of his head. He knew he was being irrational but he couldn't help but feel hurt at the thought. She was scared he would hurt her. He knew it was just her fear of Moriarty but he couldn't help but feel like he should have been more careful.

They walked beside each other in silence. The sounds of there feet hitting the floor and there breathing breaking the quiet only slightly. He looked down at the woman next to him, noting how thin she was. Molly had always been skinny, but the way that her clothes looked not their usual one size to big, but two or three. It was as though she was wearing one of John's jumpers instead of her own.

They got into the elevator and Sherlock pressed the button that led them down to the bottom floor. They started to move down. The lights in this elevator were faulty. There wasn't alot of power given to that one, because it was only used by staff. It was small and stuffy, only having enough room for a few people and a dead body. He could feel Molly tense beside him, like she was holding her breath, waiting for something horrible to happen.

The elevator stopped and they got out, walking into the morgue. The cool air hit him only slightly, but Molly visibly shivered. Sherlock had the strangest desire to pull her to him, rap his coat around her and give her some warmth and comfort, but as sone as the idea came i to his head he dismissed it.

"Which body?" Molly asked quietly.

"Elizabeth Dare."

Molly led the way over to the draw and pulled her out. "I haven't started anything with Ms Dare yet, so you'll just have to do with the visual." She unzipped the bag, pulled it away from the girl's face, and screamed.

She stumbled backwards, bumping into one of the surgical trolleys, sending a scalpel flying off. She screamed even louder and fell away from them, collapsing onto the floor. Sherlock ran to her and scooped her up into his arms, holding her close to his chest. She screamed again but quieter, and broke into a fit of sobs and cries.

Sherlock picked Molly up and helped her stand, turning her so he could look at the body, but she couldn't see it. He looked down at Elizabeth and his breath caught in his throat. The girls face had been cut up by some type of scalpel, her brown eyes staring up through the ceiling. She looked eerily similar to Molly, and thats when it all clicked into place. That sick bastard had found a girl that looked like Molly, killed her, cut her up and sent her to the morgue for Molly to see.

He pulled Molly against him, stroking her hair as she sobbed into his shirt, the previous night flooding back to him. He looked down at her and his heart, small and black though it was, broke. Sherlock may have been able to help this small and wonderful woman escape Moriarty's physical torture, but he could do nothing to save her from his mental torture. He was ripping her apart from the inside out.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. He took his hand out of Molly's hair and reached into his coat to get it. He picked it up and read the message.

 **Right back into your arms once again. I'm sorry but you were moving way to slowly, my friend. So I decided to speed things up a bit. Have fun while it lasts. Our little prize will only be yours for a little bit.**

 **Jim.**

 **...**

 **Oh, Sherlock. Save her! Jim's back at it again with the texting and murder. What a sick psychopath. What will be Sherlock's next move?**

 **A/N I've had some requests for other stories, so I am going to continue posting once a day, just they are going to be for different stories.**

 **Come back on Saturday for the next chapter.**

 **Thanks for reading and reviewing.**


	4. Survived, but Only Half There

**Hello, this is the Queen speaking.**

 **Back again with the next chapter. I hope you're all enjoying this. Tell me what you think. We got a bit of good ol' Mike Stamford in this one. We also got a new character, who I hope you all like.**

 **WARNING: This chapter is going to have a little retelling of violence and more on Molly's mental state.**

 **Disclaimer: Not mine.**

 **...**

Molly felt so weak, asking everyone to accompany her everywhere. She just felt so helpless against Jim. Sure, she fought back, but she had never managed to fight him off. She tryed to convince herself that she wanted someone with her against Jim not because she wanted someone to _protect_ her. No, she wanted someone there so she had someone to fight with.

But now, in her house by herself, she wanted someone there so she could feel safe. She knew Sherlock would be back soon but she still felt extremely dissociated. She had woken up in her bed with Sherlock in her kitchen. He had then left saying he was going to get something from Baker's Street, leaving her alone... again.

Earlier on that day she had seen a woman that looked like her, dead and mutilated in the same ways that she had been. Sherlock had insisted that she go home and take the next few days of work. Although she protested it was just her luck that Dr Stamford, her boss, had heard her screams when he had been down checking on one of her colleagues.

"Sherlock is right, you need to rest. Have you visited that therapist yet?"

"No... I don't need one, I'm..." She took a deep breath. "I'm fine."

"Well obviously not." Sherlock walked over and placed his hand on the small of Molly's back. "You scream at night, you see Moriarty everywhere and you are currently trembling. I don't know what it looks like to you, Mike, but it looks to me as though Dr Hooper definitely needs to visit Dr Vastra."

Molly tried to protest again but couldn't quite get a word in. "But-"

"Come on then Molly." Sherlock walked her forward. She was painfully aware of how warm his hand was and how perfectly it fit in the curve of her back. "I'll take you. Goodbye Mike."

Molly was tense as they walked. She just couldn't seem to relax with him standing so close to her. His body heat warming her, his hand burning her back. He pushed her forward and she couldn't help but pull in a shaking breath when his other hand gripped her elbow, turning her around the corner and into the elevator.

He looked down at her, his gaze scanning her entire being. Then his eyes widened and he quickly removed his hands and took a step away from her. "I'm ... I'm so sorry Molly... I wasn't thinking... I shouldn't have done... You do know that... I would _never_ hurt you. _Ever_."

She looked at him in confusion before realizing the cause of his distress. "Oh, Sherlock. You didn't scare me. I wasn't..." She wasn't that sure how to continue. Just as she was going to try and explain to him that him touching her didn't remind her of Jim, the elevator stopped and the doors opened.

Sherlock walked out, Molly followed. They made their way out of the hospital and Sherlock flagged down a cab. They got in, Sherlock gave the cabbie the address, and they sat in silence, the car moving swiftly through the midday traffic.

Once they arrived, Sherlock assured her he would be outside the entire time. He took his seat and Molly walked into the room, readying herself for whatever Dr Vastra would through at her.

...

Molly sat opposite Dr. S. Vastra in a rathe posh looking office. High ceilings, tall windows. Least to say, the room and the lady made Molly feel a little like she had been called into the Head Mistress' office at school, about to be told off.

"So, Dr Hooper-"

"Please, call me Molly."

"Alright...Molly. It says here that you were kidnapped by James Moriarty, and that you experienced some... unpleasant things whilst being held captive... yes?"

Molly nodded in response.

"Alright. I think we should start with something simple. But before we start, I want you to know, if you don't want to do any of these things I will never force you. If you don't want to do a certain thing, tell me, and we will find something else to do."

Molly nodded again, showing her understanding. Dr Vastra waited a moment, smiling nicely. She was very pretty, she was tall and slender, with a helping of curves. She had pointed chin and bright green eyes. Her black hair was tied up in a plat, coming down from the top of her left ear and ringing her head, coming to land on her right shoulder.

"I want you to tell me about one of your encounters with Mr Moriarty. Only one." Molly looked at her sceptically, unsure of whether or not she wanted to recount her experiences with this woman she just met. "It will help, it will allow your mind to feel as though you have a comforting presence in these harsh and difficult memories."

Molly nodded. "Okay...okay! So...where should I start..."

...

 _ **Well... I was on the phone to Sherlock, trying to tell him where I was and what was going on... I was hiding from Jim and... He found me.**_

 _ **"Moriarty...and he's standing right behind me." I whispered into the phone. The brief relief I felt after hearing both John and Sherlock's comforting voices was just... shattered by a simple noise, and it... it crushed all the hope I had of escaping. There was a ... a, uh... twig snapping behind me and...**_

 _ **Jim... Moriarty... he was stood a few paces behind me, head cocked to the side, peering down at me... He had this... this smirk on his face, the smirk of someone who was just about to open up a present... like he was ready to set fire to the gift too if it didn't like it or something.**_

 _ **"Molly, so clumsy." He bent down and picked up the phone. Jim pressed the screen and put it in his pocket, before turning his attention back to the me. His eyes... his... soulless eyes... drifted lazily over me... like he was... ready to... His smirk grew and he took a step closer. On impulse I took a step back. Jim took a bigger step forward and made a grab for me... but I was ready and determined.**_

 _ **I shot My arm up, jamming the heel of my hand into his nose. Jim stumbled back slightly, and in his momentary confusion I slipped out from around his and headed towards the trees on the opposite side of the hedges I had been hiding in. Sprinting at full speed, I tryed to ignore the pain of the roots, stones and twigs under her bare feet. I ran from the house before putting on my shoes... stupid I know, but... I was so scared I... I wasn't thinking...Jim started to run after me... I pushed myself harder, forcing my short fucking legs to carry me further and faster, but Jim's long strides quickly canceled my small ones out. He jumped and grabbed me around the waist, pulling me to the ground with him.**_

Molly sucked in a shaking breath. It was like, resiting the story was bringing it back and she felt as though jim was going to jump out and grab her.

"We don't have to continue if this is troubling you Molly."

"No...No, I want to keep going."

She sucked in another breath and continued.

...

By the time the session ended Molly was in floods of tears and shaking uncontrollably. Sherlock was called into the room by Dr Vastra. At the sight of Molly, curled up on the settee, arms wrapped around herself, his heart felt extremely tight in his chest. He immediately ran to her side and pulled her into his arms.

She clutched on to his shirt and sobbed into his shirt. This was now the third time she had been in his arms, soaking his shirt through, in the last 24 hours, and it broke Sherlock's little black heart. To hear her cries and feel her practically vibrating with fear, stirred a deeply primal need to protect her. He asked Dr Vastra to call them a cab and tryed his best to calm her down.

By the time the cab arrived, Molly had somewhat passed out in his arms.

"It must be the fear. It happens in some cases of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, when they were personally attacked with both physical and mentally troubling weapons. The mind temporarily shuts down to protect themselves from further distress."

"What... Did... You... Do!" Sherlock growled.

"I asked her to tell me about one of her encounters... obviously the experience was far more traumatic than her file makes it out to seem... bring her back here next week, she's going to need more help."

"Why you? Your the reason she's like this right now. So why you?"

"Because it's either me or the Psych Ward at Bart's."

He picked up Molly, arm around her shoulder, and the other under her knees. He carried her to the cab, placing her carefully in the seat. He was about to get in too when he heard Dr Vastra call him from the door to the building.

"Your girlfriend isn't healthy Mr Holmes! She's going to need you to be there for her, otherwise she will never be the same again!"

Sherlock nodded his head to her and got into the cab, telling the cabbie Molly's address, and pulled Molly against his side. Only a few minutes later did the words sink in. _Did Dr Vastra say '_ _ **girlfriend**_ _' ?_

...

 **Okay... so we got to relive some of Moriarty and Molly's chase and a little tease on Sherlock. Sorry again if Molly's mental state is a bit... touchy. Well, it's an M for a reason.**

 **Next chapter on Wednesday** **.**

 **Thanks for reading and reviewing.**


	5. Broken Sentimentality

**Hello, this is the Queen speaking.**

 **I'm sorry that I've been away for so long. My Grandma passed away recently and it's been...tough. I just needed a bit of time to come to terms with it and say goodbye.**

 **On a lighter note we have some real fluff in this one cause I needed a little bit of a boost. I hope you all enjoy it. There isn't much mental trauma here, not like the last few chapters this is less about Molly's Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and more about how Sherlock wants to help fix it and keep her from going bat** **shit** **crazy.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or any of the characters.**

 **...**

Sherlock sat with Molly in his arms for a while, just thinking. Convincing the cabbie that he hadn't drugged the girl he was with and that he was not attempting to kidnap her took a little more energy then necessary. By the time the cab had stopped at her house it was nearly 5pm. Sherlock got out of the cab gently, turned back and picked her up. He carried her through the building, careful not to gostle her to much as he climbed the stairs, unlocked her door, took her into her flat and laid her down on her bed. At first he had planned to leave back to Baker's Street, removing his arms from around her slowly and carefully, so not to disturb her, when Molly's arms wrapped around his neck and she buried her nose in his throat.

He froze. The feel of her hot breath on his chest sent waves of pleaser sprouting out from that point, spreading up into his head and down his chest to his groin. He didn't know what to do. He could pull her off him and lay her back down in bed, free then to go back to his own flat, but he found himself not wanting to move. Her hair tickled his neck and her hands fiddled with with his curls. She smelt of a body mist he had seen on her dresser, apple and cinnamon. _Odd choice since we are in the middle of summer, but okay._ Slowly and carefully he lowered himself down and lay next to her, allowing her to curl up more against his side.

Sherlock didn't quite know why he derived such please from such a simple act. He could find no logical reason for finding it enjoyable to hold a woman, _this_ woman, close to his body, other than sentiment.

Was he sentimental towards Molly? Well, he found her intellect fascinating and refreshing. He found her laugh pleasant, light and warm, easy to listen to and blissfully easy to extract from her. Obviously, she was a very beautiful woman, and he had found himself attracted to her on several occasions (not that he would ever admit it). And there was no denying the panic and excessive paranoia that he had experienced when she was taken by Moriarty.

Sherlock had spent so much of his life suppressing his emotions and desires that he wasn't to sure what to do when he had to express them, or even come to terms with them... John. He had to talk to John. His own personal fountain of emotional and social knowledge.

He wasn't to sure how long he had been in his mind palace thinking about his emotions for Molly, but when he focused his eyes again he noted that the room had a pink and orange light to it, a quick glance out of the window confirmed his beliefs. It was now 2 o'clock in the morning, the summer sun rising early above everyone sleeping soundly bellow it. He looked down at the woman next to him. Sherlock found that he was glad she was asleep. The last few mounths her sleep pattern had been almost as bad as his, refusing to sleep some nights and only sleeping for a few hours when she did finally let herself. He crawled out of the bed, being extremely careful not to wake Molly, and headed over to the kitchen.

He knew he should have been heading out to Baker's Street, but he didn't want to leave Molly alone and unprotected, especially when she was sleeping and defenceless. He set about making himself a cup of tea when he uncharacteristically dropped one of her mugs on the kitchen floor. He swore quietly and prayed that Molly wouldn't wake up, but when he heard the springs of her bed moving he yet again found that his belief in any kind of God dissipated.

He had expected her to come out to see what had made the noise, but she remained in her bed. Maybe she was still asleep? No, the light had been flicked on and the bed's springs creaked much more frequently then they did when she was asleep. She was awake, but she wasn't coming out, possibly because she thought there was an intruder, probably because she thought one of Moriarty's men has come to take her away again.

"Don't worry Molly, it's just me, Sherlock." He said loud enough for her to hear him. Sherlock heard the soft thuds and bangs of her getting out of bed, fast and frequent at first but gradually slowing as her panic resided. The pit pat of Molly's feet - _her tiny little feet to match her tiny little body...what...where did that come from?..._ \- signaled her arrival into the kitchen.

"Sherlock... what are you doing? It's 2 in the morning."

"Yes, yes it is. I was... just about to leave, actually."

"W-w-what?" Moly stumbled back, seeming a little panicked at the idea of him leaving. Her hands had started to tremble slightly. _Odd._

"Yes, I was just going to go back home. There are certain things I need to do, people I need to talk to. You understand, don't you?" He spoke softly, but she seemed to be flinching and looking around her, as if he was shouting and she was worried he would wake everyone else in the building.

"What... What about me?"

"What about you?"

"You're going away so... so I'll b-be..."

"Alone. You will be alone."

Molly started to shake, violently, as if a boom had just gone of in the sitting room to her left.

"You... You're going to... leave me... by myself?" Her voice was barely above a whisper, and Sherlock had to move closer to her to hear her properly. Her behaviour was extremely confusing to him, one minute she was angry, then annoyed, then happy, then sad and now she seemed absolutely terrified. _What could she be scared about? Something happening to her in the few hours I'll be gone?_

"Molly." He stepped up towards her, slowly as if she was a deer that would run away if he moved to fast. Tears had started to leak from her eyes, her hand resting protectively around her left wrist, covering her scar. Her body had gone from shaking to _trembling,_ and thats when Sherlock realized how much she really needed him there. And realized how much he didn't need to leave. How much he didn't _want_ to leave. He cupped her cheeks gently, using his thumbs to brush away the tears. "Shh, I'll only be away for an hour. Two hours tops. I need to get some things from Baker's Street, make a few calls."

"Once yo-ou get back, wi-ll you stay?" As if some devine being had possessed him, Sherlock reached forward, removing his hands from her face, and pulled her flush against him. One arm squeezed her to his torso, reaching round and cupping her waist, the other pressed her against his chest with his arm on her back, hand seemingly woven into her hair.

He felt more than heard her sob into his chest and an overwhelming sense of protectiveness came over him, struck dumb yet again by how perfectly her small form seemed to fit against him like a jigsaw piece. He put his mouth to her hair and spoke softly against her ear.

"I'll go to Baker's Street and run my errands. Before I come back I'll pick up some of my clothes and other things and bring them here. I will stay with you for as long as you need, Molly. I..."

The words caught in his throat. Sherlock pulled back from her slightly so he could look down into her face. Had he just been about to say such a thing to her. No, he couldn't have been. He didn't even believe in it. Didn't even believe he could. But as her large doe eyes stared up at him, glistening with tears he realized that even if he couldn't love her, he would do his damn best to save her, protect her, make her happy, anything that she needed, he would give her, even if it ment destroying himself.

...

Molly was brought back from her thoughts by a knock on the door, followed by the jangle of keys and the door being pushed open. She knew it was Sherlock... but she couldn't help the chill running down her spin at the thought that it could be someone else.

Sherlock strode into the sitting room, coat flapping behind him (despite the fact it was summer). He had a duffel bag in one hand and a suit carrier in the other. He slung the suit carrier over the arm of the sofa and dumped the duffel on her coffee table. Before she could ask what had taken him so long he was crouched infront of her.

"What did I do?"

Molly looked at him, confused. "... Sherlock... What? Urh..."

"What did I do... to make you trust me?"

Molly sat back in her seat. He was kneeling infront of the chair, so their heads were at the same hight, eyes level. She had never seen him look so lost. No, she had never seen him look lost at all. This was the man that seemed to know everything, and when he didn't know the answer, it never took him long to make every nonexistent puzzle piece to fit together perfectly.

"I...I don't know..."

"Think, Molly, I...I _need_ to know! Why do you trust me? Why do you even tolerate me? I have been nothing but awful to you since day one. You are sweet and kind and loving and I beat that down with horrible words and cutting remarks daily! I manipulate you and you let me. But despite every thing that I do to you, you always help me when I need you, and you trusted me enough to save you. You... You trusted me to not be like him. To not be like Moriarty."

Hesitantly she reached a hand out to brush a loss curl of his forehead. "Sherlock," she took a deep breath and steadied herself. " I trust you, because you are brilliant. Your mind and heart shine past your ego and... the things you say. I trust you because I know you would save everyone on earth if you were able to. You save people. You have the ability to... be like... but you choose to save people from the monsters like him. I trust you because of how much you love. You love your friends, and you cling onto them like they are anchors stopping you from floating away into your 'Mind Palace'. You would die for them. And I know I'm not one of the people on that list, and that you wouldn't die for me and thats okay-" Sherlock started to speak but she shushed him and kept going. "-because I've excepted it. And anyway, you got shot in the leg for me, right?"

Finally she stopped talking and just stared into his eyes as they stared back into hers, waiting for him to speak.

"Wrong."

" _What?_ " How had she been wrong? Sherlock had been shot in the leg and he wouldn't have been shot if he hadn't come to save her, so if he hadn't gotten shot for her, then who? "But..."

Sherlock looked her dead in the eyes. There was something so sinister there, like fire and ice mashed together. Rage hidden behind disbelief. Annoyance and affection swirled together in his irises like battling emotions, fighting to take control.

"You're wrong! How could you possibly ever think that! You are most definitely on that list and do not _ever_ _again_ imply that I would not die for you Molly Hooper. Because I would! In a heart beat! I would gladly give my soul, my whole _being_ to you the moment you asked for it."

Somehow, during all of this, they had moved closer to each other, faces practically pressed together. Molly could feel his breath on her lips, feel the heat coming of of his skin. His hands had come to rest on the arms of her chair, his body blocking her from escaping. They seemed to sit there for hours, at least thats what it felt like to Molly. Sherlock's eyes fluttered down to her lips, and then up again to her eyes. For a second she had the strangest feeling that Sherlock was going to kiss her. He was so close, and warm infront of her, staring into her eyes with such intensity that she thought she would die of the mear anticipation.

Suddenly he pulled away, breathing fast. In the blink of an eye he was on the other side of the room to her, eyes wide and looking at her. His hair had fallen over his forehead again. Molly's fingers itched to cross over to him and push them out of the way, but she fought down the urge. Along with other... urges.

"I'm just..." Sherlock's voice shook ever so slightly. Gone was the man of no emotion. Before her stood the rarely seen side of him, kept in a cage in the dungeons of his mind palace. "I'll just put my stuff away, shall I?"

The end to his sentence sounded like a question but before she could answer, he had fled down the hall, taking his duffel bag, suit carrier and comforting body heat with him. Molly sat, cold and questioning as she listened to the bangs and crashes of a frantic Sherlock Holmes running around her flat, before hearing the sound of her shower being turned on and the man himself, hot and flustered, getting inside.

...

"I'm running out of patience Sherlock."

He sat in his chair, facing his desk, running his hands through his hair, disrupting the usually neat and immaculate style into spikes on his head.

"Honestly! You could have gotten all of this shit to move alot faster if you tried. Then I'd have what I want and all of it would be done and over with months ago! Oh, but _noOOoo,_ you had to sit around crying for a while."

He leaned back in his chair, the leather squeaking as he moved. He breathed in a deep and heavy sigh before continuing talking to no one.

"Two more days, Sherlock." The screens in his room flickered, one showing Molly, sitting flustered in her armchair, the other showing Sherlock, taking care of a certain... problem in her bathroom. The grin on his face grew wider.

"Three more nights, and not a second longer. I'm not a patient man, but you know this. 54 hours, and then she is all _mine_. "

...

 **Sorry again for the not posting, I've just needed some time. I hope you enjoyed this chapter though. We will be finishing this up soon, and Moriarty will be coming back for more. Will Sherlock get his head out of his arse in time, or will Moriarty loss his patients? Will Molly be able to survive Jim this time? Lets hope so.**

 **A/N: I hope you didn't find Shezza to OCC in this chapter, I was trying to make him seemed panicked about his unravelling feelings for Molly, but it came out just a little... whiny.**

 **Thanks for reading and reviewing.**


	6. Bad Dreams to Good

**Hello, this is the Queen speaking.**

 **Fluff, fluff, ignorance, fluff, naivety, fluff, fluff and more week, new chapter. New chapter, new fluff!**

 **Okay, so this chapter isn't** **as dirty as it's gonna get later on, but it does get a little steamy. Just warning you for those that are faint at heart. We don't want a collapse '** _ **Ahhh! How could my sweet little cinnamon rolls every be tempted by such sin?**_ **'**

 **... Enjoy**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing but the story plot.**

 **...**

That night was quite possibly the most _awkward_ nights of Molly's. She had done some pretty bad things in her youth that had left her wanting to just melt into a pile of goop and dissolve into the ground, like when she was 10 and had asked her best friend Marco if he wanted to share an ice cream cone, and he had looked at her like she had just said ' _hi, I know this is random, but I actually have a lizard tail growing out of my back that I use to escape from bullies!_ ' and then he had just walked away like she was a psychopath. Needless to say, Molly Hooper was awkward. But then through the man she has been in love with for nearly six years into her bedroom, where they had both gone fully conscious and completely sober, and well... things get a little bumpy for Hooper and Holmes.

"Could you move over a bit?"

"Yah, sorry ... can you move your hand?"

"My hand?"

"Yes it's touching my arm."

"Oh ... that's, that's not my hand ..."

"What?"

"It's my foot."

"You foo- how the hell did you manage that?"

"I don't know, I sleep weird okay"

"Okay, but stop hogging all the covers."

They slept back to back, finally stopping wriggling. Molly tugged the duvet towards her, which left Sherlock's feet out in the cold. He tucked them under himself and his toes rested on Molly's bum. They both froze.

"...You know I really am fine sleeping on the sofa-" Sherlock offered.

"That sofa would hardly fit you you're so big ... Oh! Ah, I mean, your too long, I mean the sofa is to small and uncomfortable for even me to sleep on and your alot bigger than I am so it would hardly be appropriate."

"I guess you're right."

"Plus, there is plenty of room in the bed."

" _Well-_ '

"Stop it!"

They wriggled around again. Sherlock huffed, finally fed up. He turned himself so he was lying on his side facing Molly. The fact that the bed sharing was so uncomfortable for both of them was a mystery to him. They had shared a bed a few times before and it was fine _then_...so what's different now? Sherlock reached over towards Molly and slid his hand around her waist. He could feel her tense underneath his fingertips. Sherlock shifted closer to her and then pulled her back against him.

He moved the covers so that they covered them both, even going as far as to tuck some under Molly's legs and the his own as well. Molly was stiff when he finally rested back down. Despite this, Sherlock was struck yet again by how small she was, and how perfectly her body fit against his. Her legs curved around his, her back pressed into his chest and her head resting under his chin.

He left one arm around her waist, but the other he wasn't quite sure. Possible images flashed through his mind palace. He could put it underneath her head? That way he could hold her lightly and she would still be able to move if she got uncomfortable. He could rest it in-between them but that would disconnect their bodies, even if only slightly. He could move it under her, that way he could hold her closer to him, but his arm would go numb, and lying on an arm is hardly wanted so that would be uncomfortable for both of them.

Sherlock decided to go for them former and slipped his arm underneath Molly's head. He settled himself down, both still quite tense.

"Is ... is this ... okay?" He murmured quietly into her ear.

"Yes, it's fine."

They lay their for a while. Both silently. Neither spoke in worries that they would spook the other. Every so often Sherlock would find himself fiddling with a piece of her hair. Molly world find herself tracing patterns into his arm with her fingertips.

"Sherlock?"

"Yes, Molly?"

"What is this?"

Sherlock paused for a moment. Molly felt him stiffen behind her. "It's a ... means to an end. This bed is a little too small for the both of us and I agree when you say that your sofa is to small and uncomfortable for any sane human to want to occupy. So, to help save space ... I moved closer ..."

"Oh ... okay." At least that question was answered, but neither of them relaxed. "What about earlier, when you ran off?"

Moly could hear Sherlock swallow behind her. The arm that was around her waist tightened, pulling her closer, but she wasn't sure he was conscious of that movement. Molly silently held her breath, waiting for him to speak. A few moments passed and Molly was starting to panic, what if she had asked the wrong question? Was he going to leave now?

"Molly, ..." He whispered. The brush of air over her ear released the slightest bit of tension from her body. "Usually I would want to speak with John about this first for guidance but ... you were so scared, I ... I couldn't leave you on your own for too long." Sherlock's hand started to fiddle yet again with a few strands of her hair. "Please, understand that this is hard for me, I don't understand these things, maybe because I've been suppressing them for so long ..."

"Sherlock, what are you getting at?"

Sherlock's mind was buzzing with possibilities. Things that could go wrong. Things that could go right. Things that were likely never to happen at all. He wasn't used to this type of thing, these _feelings_.He had always been told, on many occasions, that feelings would weaken you, that they would corrupt your thinking, blur your even and unbiased judgment. Of course he had always felt anger and envy, or gleeful and happy but he never felt - never allowed himself to feel - love. Now he thought of it, he knew he did love people:

His parents he loves, they raised him and cared for him. They put up with everything he did as a child growing up. If anyone deserves to be loved it's them.

Mrs Hudson he loves like a mother. She scolded him freely when he does something wrong, which is quite often. She fed him when he needed it, and washes his clothes. She is always there for him.

John he loves like a brother. Not the Mycroft type brother, which he assumes is _some_ type of love, but like he imagines brothers should love each other. He has Johns back and John has his. They work together on opposite sides of the spectrum, Sherlock works the logical end while John mans the morality and feelings.

Greg is much the same as John, but like everyone on earth, of course Sherlock had a favourite. Greg was like an older brother to him, but unlike Mycroft, Greg cared more to be a partner in crime (or solving crime) instead of shifting of his work onto his younger sibling. He did love Greg, and despite common belief among his friends, he _did_ know Greg's name, he just chose to get it wrong so he could annoy everyone else.

Molly stirred against him, pulling him from his thoughts. He was about to open his mouth and start talking again when he noticed are even breathing and steady heart beat. She'd fallen asleep.

Sherlock pulled the blanket further up her body and tucked it under her chin, then settled down himself. He hadn't been planning to go to sleep when he got into the bed, thinking only of being a comfort to Molly while she slept, but listening to her quiet breathing and feeling her warmth pressed against his front started to lull him into a slumber of his own. He pulled Molly closer to him and rested his head on the pillow, her hair tickling his nose. Dreams took him away, blissfully sweet, filled with the women in his arms.

They lay there for the night each asleep and in their own minds, wrapped in each others embrace. But while Sherlock's dreams were sweet, Molly's were anything but.

...

 _ **When I woke up my head was still spinning. Arms stretched out behind me, I felt the wetness of the mattress next to me. The light from the window showed it was well into day time -**_ **I wonder how long I've been asleep for -** _ **and was enough for me to see around the cell with ease. I glanced down at the wet patch. Blood. The wet patch was blood. My blood. The slice on my wrist must have been much bigger and deeper than I thought.**_

 _ **Slice on my wrist? I looked around, the place looked so familiar but I just couldn- no ... I'm**_ **back** _ **. I felt like I was going to vomit and pace out at the same time. Jim had found me. He had brought me back!**_

 _ **I tried to get up and find something to cover my wrist with, but was overwhelmed with a large dizzy spell that forced m back down onto the mattress. Blood loss. Slowly I tried again. I was half way through standing, my right foot in a grand straight of agony once again, when the door at the top of the stairs clicked open.**_

 _ **"Molly Mouse?" The voice of James Moriarty cooed from above me. "Sweetheart?" He walked slowly down the steps, as if nothing could have bothered him at all. My mind was fuzzy. Once he had reached the bottom of the stairs I was ready to pass out again, but I wasn't going to let him win that easily.**_

 _ **Jim kneeled down on the mattress over the top of me. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wrap of bandages. He grabbed my wrist and started to wrap the bandage over my wound. I tried to struggle away from him but it was useless, he was to strong, and my blood loss was making me weak.**_

 _ **I gritted my teeth. I had to do something! I started to scream, thrashing around and wailing. He clamped his hand over my mouth.**_

 _ **"Quiet." He hissed.**_

 _ **Suddenly, he pulled his hand away from me. "YOU BIT ME!" I started to thrash under him again, trying desperately to break his hold on me and make another attempt at escape. "YOU BIT ME, AGAIN!" He stood up and got off of me. I tried to get up but found I had used all my energy fighting of Jim in vain. I watched out of the corner of my eye as he looked down at the trays, searching for something.**_

 _ **"Here we go!" He whispered in delight, stroking the handle of a stick like object. The look on his face suggested to me that the object brought back 'fond ' memories. He turned back round to me, holding the stick out infront of him, allowing me to get a better look. On one end was a flattish panel, and on the other was a small, sharp knife. "We're gonna have some fun with this."**_

...

She woke up screaming, pulling away from the body lying next to her. Arms reached out to touch her in the darkness.

"Molly! Molly, it's okay! It's me! Sherlock!" Molly let the hands hold her. Sherlock pulled her towards him, allowing her to sit on his lap. One hand steadied her, while the other stroked her hair soothingly. "It's okay. Your safe. I have you. You're okay. Shh, it's alright." He rocked her, cooing softly in her ear. Molly thought she would be crying, but she wasn't. Usually when someone woke her up from a dream, she would scream and then start crying, but now ... she didn't feel she had to.

Molly's hands rose up to clutch at his shirt. The cotton of his sleeping shirt was soft under he fingers. Sherlock continued to rock her until he was sure she wouldn't cry or start screaming again. He stopped and pulled back to look at her. In the dim light of her room he could hardly see her, only an out line. He could feel her breath on his face, her hands still buried in his tee shirt. Sherlock was overcome with the simplest desire to kiss her, let her know that he was there, comfort her in every sense of the term. But when he started to lean forward she pulled back.

"He took me again." Her voice was so small, so quiet. "I was in the basement, I was bleeding, and ... he was ... he was going to torture me again!"

"He will never hurt you ever again. Not if I can help it. As long as you have me I will do what ever it takes to keep you safe. Understand?"

She leaned forward and hugged him. His arms wrapped around her waist and he buried his nose in her hair, inhaling slowly.

"Molly, what I was trying to say earlier ... you were asleep before I got the chance to finish."

"I'm sorry."

"No, don't be, I'm the one that slipped into my mind palace mid conversation."

Molly giggle. "So, what were you trying to say?"

Sherlock paused for a second, taking his time to heave in a deep breath. "That I care about you."

Molly's heart stopped. He cared about her? She pulled back from hugging him to look at his face, not that she could see much in the dim light. "I ... I don't know what to say ... "

"Don't say anything."

Sherlock looked at her outline, willing his pupils to adjust to the dark so he could see her properly. Her hot breath was on his face again. He was extremely aware of her presence on his lap, her hands on his shoulders.

"I-I ... I" Sherlock breathed in deeply, giving himself a moment. "Molly, I want to ... kiss you. Right now. Can ... Can I kiss you?"

He couldn't see it, but Molly's face burst into a bright smile.

"You don't have to ask, Sherlock." She whispered.

And with that Sherlock finally leaned forward, capturing her lips with his own. His arms automatically pulled her closer. Molly's hands slid from his shoulders up into his hair, reveling at the fact she could now finally curl her hands in his soft locks, after so many years of vividly wet dreams about doing so. Sherlock growled into her mouth when she scraped her nails along his scalp, the sound running shivers through her body, electrical currents that all ended up in the area in-between her legs.

Sherlock couldn't think. Well he could think but it was so quiet. His mind, that was never silent for a second, that never had less then six ideas whizzing around his skull at a time, was blissfully hushed. The only thought in his head was ' _Molly_ '. Every sense was taken up by the pathologist pressed deliciously against is chest. Her smell, her voice, her warmth ... her _taste_ , and Oh Good God, what a taste! He had to get more.

He trailed kisses down her neck. He passed her jaw, behind her ear, the point where her neck met her shoulder and down to her collarbone. Molly shuddered under his hands when he scrapped his teeth across her shoulder. She pulled at his hair, silently (and not so silently) begging him to meet her lips again. As he rose from her neck and moved to her lips, letting her hands in his locks guide him ... he saw it ...

Fires burnt trails along his skin, following Molly's fingers like ghosts. She felt so light in his arms but surprisingly heavy while seated in his lap. With every move of her lips, with every scratch of her nails over his scalp and back, increased her weight on his groin. Every soft gasp and moan sucked him further into her, but with great, great, _extraodinary_ reluctance, Sherlock pulled back.

"Molly ..." He groaned. He lent forward and rested his forehead against her's. "We ... We have to stop."

Molly pulled back, hurt flashing across her face (Invisible in the dark but Sherlock could almost feel it there.) "What ... Why? Did ... did you change your mind?"

Sherlock jumped and grasped her face in his hands. "NO! No, no, God no! I _want_ this more than you realise, Molly. But you don't understand, we _need_ to stop." He said, gesturing over her shoulder.

Molly tryed to follow his line of sight, but in the dark it was a difficult task. "What is it? If you ... if you want it, why ... why stop?"

Sherlock raised his gaze to the corner of her room, hidden behind a vase of flowers. His heart had almost stopped when he'd seen it, but with this vixen in his lap it was nearly impossible for him to think of anything else, but once he had pieced the points together ...

The small red light flashed only just, the LED extremely dim but still recognizable to Sherlock's keen eye.

"Because we have an audience."

...

 **DunDunDuuuuuuun**

 **I'm sorry, I hate myself too. Now, I know what your thinking "** _ **You said this was gonna be fluff! You promised me**_ **fluff** _ **! I demand a refund! Why must you do this to me?**_ **" and I know, I SORRY!** **but the question you really should be asking isn't '** _ **Why do I even bother reading this littler lier's story?**_ **' but should really be 'How did the camara get in their without anyone noticing? Moriarty had to get it in there somehow ... so how ... or who ...**

 **Thank you for reading and reviewing.**


	7. Watching Through Cameras

**Hello, this is the Queen speaking.**

 **This chapter** _ **is**_ **shorter than normal, but it's tying up a few lose ends and adding a few more as our favourite psychopath comes back into our Sherlocian lives. Plot development and all that aside, I promise, next week you** _ **will**_ **be seeing the big JM back in all his crazy glory ... or do I mean gory?**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own 'Sherlock', although I am flattered if you made that mistake.**

 **...**

Molly froze against him. His words rung inside her scull. She was having trouble processing the words, trying to concentrate but her mind was just to clouded with desire.

Whilst Molly was having a moment of internal conflict, Sherlock was looking over her shoulder at the red light in the corner of her room. It was almost undetectable. Almost. Behind her red alarm clock the camera's light was well hidden, and probably would have stayed that way had Sherlock not had such a keen eye.

Sherlock gently slid Molly of his lap and stood, walking up to the camera, fury in his eyes and an ache in his trousers. Moving around the clock he picked up the camara, then followed the cord round to where it was plugged in against the wall.

Molly watched him as he went, trembling with nervous energy. Then he stopped. Molly lent forward as Sherlock slowly bent down. He turned to the camera and she could see the cold anger in his eyes even through the dim light in the room.

"Sorry. Technical Difficulties." He hissed, and ripped the plug out of the wall.

Sherlock's mind was raging as he raced around the flat, in each room he found at least on camera, sometimes up to three. By the time he had disarmed them all he was ready to scream, and he may have even done just that had a small hand not grasped his upper arm.

Sherlock spun around and grabbed the person around the neck, pushing them against the nearest wall before his mind even registered the person was Molly. Molly looked up at him with large terrified eyes. He pulled his hand back as though it was burnt. Backing away from her, he began to shake. Molly started forward when he fell back onto her sofa. Slowly, as if approaching a baby deer, she stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder. When he didn't react she crawled up next to him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

"Wh-what's going on, Sherlock?" Molly mumbled into his shoulder blades. Suddenly his arms wrapped around her waist and she was pulled into his lap once again.

"I'm so sorry, Molly. If I had known I would have taken you somewhere else. I would have protected you. I would have come to you sooner. I would have - I would ..."

She cupped his face in her hands and rested her forhead against his. "You would have what?"

"I would have told you I love you sooner." His voice was barley above a whisper, but with the only other sounds in the room being their quiet breathing, to Molly, his words were roar.

Sherlock pulled he closer as his trembling began to stop. Looking back, he wasn't quite sure how long they had spent sitting there, wrapped in each others arms, but soon enough Sherlock insisted that Molly stay by his side at all times and had set of back to Baker's Street to get rid of any cameras that had been left there.

Molly set her bag down in the living room and settled herself on the settee, letting her mind work over what had happened in the last few hours. First she had woken up in a panic, then came that conversation with Sherlock, then she was kissing the man of her dreams ... then he had seen the camera, and now she was in 221B, not knowing if she was safe or if she would ever see her flat agin. No she was being silly, of course she was safe, she was with Sherlock Holmes. He would protect her. Wouldn't he?

...

"Only one, only one, only one, only one, only one ... one of us can have her Sherlock, the other has to watch. I was gonna make it easy and let you have her first, but then you took out my camera's so I couldn't see what you were doing. One of us _has_ to watch, and I guess I could go over there and watch first hand but, where's the subtlety in that?"

James Moriarty sat in his chair, staring and the blank screens, buzzing with static. Leaning forward he switched of the screens, plugging the room into semi darkness, the only light, now coming from under the door and the fire place behind him.

"Well Sherlock. I was planning on waiting just that little bit longer," James closed the button on his suit jacket as he stood. "and you did give me one hell of a show in our dear Molly's bedroom," He tilted his head to the side and the bones in his neck clicked. "but you really leave me no choice."

"Mr Moriarty?" A voice called from the door.

James turned to see one of his workers flitting nervously at the entrance to the room. The man looked as though he wanted to run for the hills, screaming bloody murder as he went, but was simultaneously to scared to move his feet unless James was to tell him to do so. Looking at the man through the dim light, James recognized his as the man who he had had chained to a chair whilst killing his dog when being recruited.

James had always found that the people who were easy to pull in to the circle, the ones who came willingly, were always the quickest to turn on you for someone else's money. But the ones you break, the ones you take everything from, except that one thing you leave them with, that one thing left to lose, those are the ones that stay the most loyal.

He still hadn't spoken, simply standing there awaiting tiny instructions.

"Yes?" James prompted.

"Mr-Mr Moran has arrived."

A smile broke over his face. "Good. Just in time. Tell Mr Mr Moran. I have a job for him."

...

 **I'm such a tease I know. Sherlock and Molly were ready to get frisky and I interrupted it, I'm** _ **sorry,**_ **okay?**

 **Next chapter is when Moriarty finally gets back into our favourite detective's life, so, be prepared.**


	8. Two Chocolates and A Note

Molly sat on the settee at 221B for a while. Sherlock had disabled all the cameras and had made sure there were no listening devices hidden in books or stuck under tea cups. She knew this because he kept telling her just that. That she was safe. But something in her told her he wasn't saying that just for her benefit.

Shelock had raced her to his flat just after...she wasn't sure what to call it. First she was scared, then aroused, then scared again, and then she was in Sherlock's flat.

Time past and he became more restless. He looked to Molly as though he had enough tense energy that, if he were to release it, he would fly out the window at any second, when Mrs Hudson knocked on the door.

"Yoohoo!" She called, pushing the door open. "Oh, Molly dear I didn't know you were here so early." She gave her a look that almost seemed as though she wasn't being entirely innocent.

"Oh! No, Mrs Hudson, I, uh, we ... that's not, I'm not-"

"What do you want, Mrs Hudson?" Sherlock piped in finally.

"Letter for you Sherlock." He took the envelope from her hands as she kept talking, and inspected it, as though a man with a gun would jump out of it. "It's not that often that you get letters now-er-days, but I guess that's what happens when technology advances. Never sure what we'll get next: phones that light up different colours, flying cars, video messages ..."

"We already have video messages." Molly interpreted.

"Do we? That's nice. Well if you're going to be staying long I'll bring you up a cup of tea along with Sherlock's, yes?"

"Thank you Mrs Hudson." Sherlock muttered and held the door open for her, eyes never leaving the letter.

"Well, no need to be rude Sherlock, I was just leaving anyway, and I-" Sherlock shut the door.

A while past with Sherlock looking at the letter, rummaging around the apartment and asking Molly about sleeping arrangements.

"You can sleep in my bedroom, with how we have been resting the last few times together it seems silly to act coy now."

Molly rested her head against the back of the sofa, closing her eyes and breathing in deeply. As she mused over the happenings of the day, she could hear Sherlock rummaging around his kitchen, bedroom, bathroom and another room she assumed was an office or storage cupboard but had never set foot in. Along with the bangs and clatters, Molly could also hear him mumbling some things under his breath. It was quiet but she could hear it. The first was something about the flat being presentable, but the other was mindless.

"Only one." He kept murmuring.

"What do you mean?"

"Hmm?" He hummed, glancing up from behind John's old chair.

" 'Only One' What do you mean?"

"Noth-"

"And don't say 'Nothing' because I know you. You never do something when it's not on purpose, and doing something multiple times is definitely to much for you to expect me to ignore. So, what do you mean?"

He sighed, shoulders hunching forward. Silently he brought out the letter Mrs Hudson had given him earlier, and passed it to her. On it, it read " _Only One, Sherlock. Only One._ "

"I don't understand-"

"You don't need to. You only need to understand that I will keep you safe. Do you? Do you understand that?"

"Yes."

"Good"

"...what should we do in the mean time?"

Sherlock licked his lips. "How about we finish what we started in your bed."

... **M**...

All the tension. All the fear and worry came out. All the raging emotions in both of them was forced out, but this time, in the form of passion. Sherlock's lips crashed into her's. She never knew something so sweet could leave her so breathless. He hovered over her using his arms to keep most of his weight off of her. This ment his hands were preoccupied. But Molly's weren't. Fingers weaved into his hair, slid up his back. Molly found herself debating on which was softer, his skin, or his black curls. A flashing memory of a growl came to her mind, and following it, a mischievous smirk came to her lips. Sherlock must have felt it because he began to shift his weight.

Molly ran her nails across his scalp. And with that, Sherlock lost it. Clothes started to come off at rapid speed, scattering around the room like a laundry basket had exploded. Leaning to his left, so all his weight was on one arm, Sherlock trailed his hand down Molly's body until it reached the part of her that needed his touch the most. He pushed one finger in, then two, and began pumping in and out, using his hand to stimulate her.

Just as she was about to reach her peak, he stopped. He kissed her again, and moved so that he was able to slide in.

... **T**...

Night came and the two were sleeping peacefully...well, they were sleeping...well, Molly was sleeping. Sherlock's mind would not stop racing! _Only one_...What could it mean...only one listening devise? Only one night before he comes and gets her? Only one for Sherlock?...No, No that last one's ridiculous.

A light _**thm**_ was heard outside of the bedroom. It could have been nothing. A pillow finally falling of the settee, at 2 o'clock in the morning. It could have been the rope holding the curtains in place snapping and letting the heavy drap fall across the window. What ever it was, it was something moving in the flat.

Sherlock slowly disentangled himself from Molly, and rolled out of bed, being careful not to make a sound. He inched the door open with maximum effort, so that it was completely silent. Placing one clothed foot infront of the other, he edged his was into the kitchen. Nothing. He picked up the up the broom stick. At least it was something. With the same amount of care as the time before, he slowly slipped around then corner and, into the living room. Nothing. No, there couldn't be nothing. Sherlock looked around the room, inspecting everything. Well the pillow hadn't fallen, and the curtain rope is still in place.

He rubbed a hand down his face. He had been so sure he'd heard something. Was it just his tired and anxious mind? Everything seemed in tack. Everything. Maybe it was a loose floorboard squeaking. It was old. He put it down as a mental note that he should re-floor the room.

There had to be something.

Surely.

Sherlock looked to the floor again. It looked different in the early, _early_ , morning light. Dark...Wet. He reached over to the light switch by the door, and flicked it on. It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust, but when they did, his heart stopped.

In large black letters, across his dark oak floor, were the words that had been plaguing him all night.

 _Only one._

He'd left Molly alone.

He raced back into the room to find the bed made perfectly. Squared of corners, tightly tucked in sheets. There was a chocolate on each pillow. And a note in the middle of the bed.

 _Thank you for the stay._

 **...**

 **I know it's been a while, but I've been struggling lately. I know it isn't an excuse you kep you waiting for not a few weeks, but a few MONTHS! I can only apologise. I won't promise to start posting more regularly, because I know I can't keep that promise. So instead, I will try my best to kep writing so I don't leave you all on a cliffhanger for to long...again.**

 **Thank you for being so patient with me.**


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